


To Go Where I Cannot Follow

by littlelionheart



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dad!Bellamy, Established Relationship, F/M, Flashback, Fluff and Angst, Meet-Cute, Mom!Clarke, the grey's anatomy episode fucked me up and this happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 19:43:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3822517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelionheart/pseuds/littlelionheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke Griffin has never, in her life, been small or weak or anything other than brilliant. It’s just a fact of her existence that she was built to stay, to take on the world if she needed to. It’s something he’d always been in awe of, even back before they even actually liked each other. But right now, she’s lying in a hospital bed after being hit by a truck and she’s… she can’t do it on her own. Not this. She needs a miracle.</p><p>Those happen, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Go Where I Cannot Follow

He’s picking up his daughters’ toys in the living room when he sees the flashing red and blue lights through the bay window and the world just _stops_.

If he were being at all honest with himself right now, as dread and pain intermingle in his chest and make it hard to breathe, he’d be thinking that he’d known something was wrong before this moment; that he’d felt it earlier in the day, that gut feeling that something had happened. She hadn't been answering her phone. She always answered her phone, but maybe she didn't have service, he told himself. Maybe it ran out of batter life. Maybe she just didn't hear it. He knows that feeling, that gut sense of _something is wrong,_ has felt it far too many times in his life than any person should have to, but he ignored it. He told himself that he was just being paranoid, like she always said he was.

But he isn't being honest with himself right now because he knows his wife is dead and just forcing himself to keep breathing is requiring a good bit of lying at the moment.

_“I’m going to be late!” she giggles as she halfheartedly tries to pry herself from your arms. “Bellamy! I’ll be back. It’s just work!”_

_You promptly ignore her and kiss her as she laughs. She’s wearing that perfume that she knows drives you crazy and in retaliation you've decided to kiss her in that way that you know drives_ her _crazy. Not exactly revenge, but you can’t bring yourself to care._

_Somehow, she manages to get free, not that you were really trying, a triumphant smile on her face as she dances out of your arms._

_“Ha! Now, you stay. I have to go.” You make half a move toward her and almost actually consider grabbing her again, her job be damned, but she puts up her fingers and backs away again. “Ah ah ah! No. Stay. Staaaay.” You want to pull her to you, to keep her in your arms for the rest of the day while the girls go off to day care. But you don’t. “Good. Good Bellamy.”_

_She quickly bounces toward you, pecks you on the lips and is out the door before you can even blink._

_“Love you!” you call after her, a stupid grin on your face._

_“Love you too!”_

A knock jars him from his stupor where he’s been standing and staring at the still flashing lights and suddenly the entire world rushes back in.

His heart feels like it’s trying to escape from his chest and his hands are cold. The purple elephant he’s holding is sticky from something Aurora spilled on it. Apple juice? It might be apple juice. He thinks she had apple juice this morning. They ran out of orange a few days ago. There’s two grim faced police officers at the front door when he opens it, stoic and yet sympathetic. Do they train them to do that? They always look like that when they come to tell him someone he loves has died. The wet laundry in the machine needs to be put in the dryer. She forgot to wash out her mug before she left this morning; it’s still sitting on the counter. She always forgets to do that and it drives him nuts. _“I’ll be back.”_ It’s her favorite one with the joke about anatomy that she still giggles at every time she reads it and she’s dead. His wife is dead. _His wife is dead_.

“Sir, is this the home of Clarke Griffin-Blake?”

Bellamy thinks he nods. He isn't sure. The lights are still flashing.

“There’s been an accident.”

***

There’s no time to call a baby sitter or anyone else so he has to take the girls with him to the hospital. Not that he’d know what to say to anyone right now. Aurora’s at that age where she has questions about everything (“What are you doing?” “Why are oranges called that?” “Do you think rabbits dream?”), but she’s quiet in the car, wide eyes never leaving him as he drives. He doesn't know which would be worse, her asking questions about what’s happening or this silence that seems so much louder that it should be able to be. Julia doesn't seem to notice it though, since she’s still softly snoring in her car seat next to Aurora, her tiny hands gripping her blanket. She’s been a blessing of a baby when it comes to sleeping in comparison to Aurora, who had seemed determined to wake the entire town at varying hours of the night and early morning any time they tried to put her down for bed.

  _“She gets it from you,” Clarke whispers as she gently puts your daughter back into her crib after finally getting her back to sleep. You've had your daughter for a few months now, but it never ceases to amaze and terrify you that this incredibly tiny person is now yours to look after and protect. That and that something so small is capable of that much noise. Clarke’s curls are a little wild as she pushes a lock behind her ear, her bag-lined eyes still locked on your daughter. A small smile graces her face. Even after extreme sleep deprivation, she’s still the most beautiful woman you have ever seen._

_“Does not,” you whisper back as you move to wrap your arms around her from behind, nuzzling into her hair at her neck and making more of a mess of it. You’re exhausted and your feet and throat are killing you after trying to walk and bounce and sing your wonderful hellion of a child to sleep for the better part of two hours._

_“Mmm, does too. Just like she got your ears and your nose, your mouth, your cheekbones… She makes the same face you do when you yell.”_

_“Well, the eyes are yours, and the hair… not sure where that chin came from, though.”_

_“Pretty sure that came from her Auntie Octavia.”_

_“Oh, yeah… I see it now.”_

_She’s so warm in your arms, her body fitting your own like you never thought possible. The two of you stand there for a moment, both resting on each other in exhaustion. God, you love this woman, you think. You love her and you love the perfect little girl you made together. Your heart’s about to burst you love them so much. All is right with the world._

_“You know this isn't going to last, right?” she asks wryly, glancing at you then back to your daughter and you groan while ducking your head into her shoulder. You've both learned that Aurora never makes it more than an hour before she’s right back to her usual routine of screaming her heart out. You sigh once before moving away from her, nudging her toward the door to the hallway as you do._

_“You sure?” she asks as she starts to back away._

_“Yeah. You go to bed. I’ll stay.”_

 

She’s hooked up to so many machines when he sees her that he isn't entirely sure where they end and she actually begins. There are bandages all over, on her arms especially, and a large white one around her head. He’s sure there are more under her sterile blue hospital gown, but he’s incredibly grateful to not have to see them. Deep bruises mottle the skin of her neck and jaw line, like she’s been in a fight. A machine evenly pumps her breath for her, chest rising and falling in a mechanical rhythm. There’s a machine for her heart, too, that keeps it pumping and its beat beeps on one of the screens that surround her. It’s even harder to look at than he thought it’d be. He’s grateful that the social worker on call is looking after his children so they don’t have to see their mother like this.

One of the doctors tries to explain what happened, something about her stopping to help someone who had car trouble and a semi-truck coming around a blind turn too fast to stop, but Bellamy doesn't catch most of it. All he can hear are the beeps of her heart that really isn't beating.  He does catch enough, though, that he understands the situation fully.

Her body may still be working, but his wife is gone and she’s never going to wake up.

 

 _All you know when you wake up is that it’s warm and way too early for you to be awake. You open your eyes and make a mental correction, it’s way too early for_ both _of you to be awake._

_“What time is it,” you grumble into your pillow. “And why the hell are you awake right now?”_

_“Early. And I don’t know. I just… am.” She’s sitting up against the headboard next to you. Completely alert. You hate her._

_“And what? You decided that I should be too?”_

_“It isn't my fault that you have that weird thing where you can sense if someone is staring at you.”_

_“But you know about it, and have obviously decided to use it against me.”_

_You’re awake. There’s nothing you can do about now, so you readjust your body so your face isn't completely buried in your pillow anymore and you can look at her fully._

_She’s beautiful, as always, even with her extreme case of bed head. You got stupid lucky with her and you know it, even though she wakes you up before the sun has even risen. And it isn't just her looks. You never thought you could feel like this, so full and complete and open, especially not with another person._

_“What?” She asks in response to your staring, her eyebrow ticking up and the edge of her mouth beginning to pull at half of a smile._

_“Nothing. Just… thinking about how lucky I am.”_

_Her face softens and she moves so that she can run her fingers through you hair in that way she knows you love, eyes scanning over every inch of your face._

_“I lucked out too, you know.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Yeah… even with your snoring.” You huff, offended._

_“I do not snore.”_

_“Babe, I have been wearing earplugs to bed for the better part of eight years because of your snoring. It’s time to admit it. It’s okay. I love you anyway.”_

_You sit up and shoot her a half-hearted glare as you get yourself in position._

_“Oh, you love me anyway, huh?” You grab her and flip her underneath you, pinning her there._

_“Bellamy!”_

_“Like it’s such a hardship!” She’s giggling and only starts to do it harder once you start to tickle her._

_“You snore- ahahaha! Like, like a chainsaw!”_

_“You’re going to pay for that!”_

_“B-bring it on, buzz saw!”_

 

He left the room she’s in. His beautiful, wonderful, expressive wife has been reduced to a body and it might actually kill him to sit in the room where _she’s_ not there, but the part of her that used to smile and frown and pout and grimace, but no longer can, is. The universe seems impossibly cruel to him in that moment. He knows it won’t be the last time he thinks that.

Instead, he’s sitting in the hallway with Aurora, who’s asleep with her head pillowed on his thigh, her own exhaustion finally winning out. The soft blonde curls, the ones that she gets from her mother, are slipping through his fingers with ease as he cards them through her hair. He can still hear the methodical beeping coming from Clarke’s room and he _hates_ it, hates that it’s the last sound he’s going to hear from her.

There’s a feeling building in his chest, that out of control response of _pain_ that will reduce him to a wailing mess, but it’s not time yet. He can’t let go yet. He’s got his daughters to think about. There are still things to do. Julia’s in her stroller nearby, still snoring away, completely unaware of the horror show that’s going on around her. He’s glad she’s sleeping through this and hopes to god she doesn't remember anything from this night, that neither of his daughters do.

God, they’re so young. Aurora just turned four and her mom is going to be _gone_. Will she even remember Clarke? How much her mother loved her? How she would hum under her breath while she held her? How they used to dance around the kitchen singing along to Clarke’s old CD collection? How she always, always fell asleep with her fingers tangled in her mother’s curls?

And Julia… she’s barely one. She won’t remember anything of her mother, _nothing_ , and it’s _cruel._

It isn't fair. It isn't fair that they don’t get to grow up with their mother, their wonderful, amazing mother, who loved them more than anything else in the world. They aren't going to get to do all the things that little girls should get to do with their mothers and it’s _wrong._

It isn't fair that Clarke won’t get to see them grow up. She won’t get to see them on their first day of school. See them learn to swim. See them take dance lessons or karate or gymnastics or anything else. She won’t see their first dance. She won’t be there for when they have their first loves and first heartbreaks. She won’t be there on the day they graduate high school and college. She won’t be there the day they get married, if they do. She won’t get any of the things mothers are meant to get when they have children.

She’s never even heard Julia say her first words yet and it’s _not fair._

He’s thinking this just moments before he almost murders one of the doctors in the middle of the hallway.

It’s a testament to how much he loves his daughters that he manages to keep a strangle hold on his temper long enough to grab the attention of a nearby nurse to watch his children before he drags the idiot out of the front of the hospital doors, away from their still sleeping forms, and shoves the inconsiderate _bastard_ of a doctor so hard into a wall that he’s pretty sure the other man will at have deep, purple, painful bruises and a mild concussion at the very least.

Who in their right mind would choose to discuss the _termination of his wife_ while he was holding his sleeping child?

“Who does that?” he seethes, slamming the man hard against the side of the building once again. “I had my daughter in my arms, you son of a bitch! My four year old daughter! While my other daughter, my _one year old_ , is asleep in her stroller not two feet away! What is wrong with you? That’s their mother you’re talking about! My wife!”

The man’s eyes are wide and terrified, as they should be. Bellamy knows what he looks like right now, knows what he looks like even when he’s not a breath away from ripping some jackass’s throat out.

_“Stop looking at him like that, Bellamy.”_

_“Like what?”_

_“Like you’d wear his guts as a scarf and enjoy it.”_

_“Wear his- This is my normal expression. This is how I normally look.”_

_“Exactly.”_

God, he can almost hear her, the memory is so clear in his mind. She’s still there, but not here, and the force of that realization knocks the wind out of him. It’s what gets him to let go of the man, back away, and not go after him as he scurries off back into the hospital. He only regrets it a little.

Bellamy has experienced his fair share of dead loved ones, but this… he’s never had to do this. He doesn't think that he _can_ do this.

How does someone make the decision to let the love of their life just… die? How do you _do_ something like that?

He knows what the doctors have told him, that she won’t wake up, that she’s not there anymore. His wife is dead, even though her body is not. Those are facts. You can’t argue with facts. And he knows what she would want, and it isn't this, to be full of tubes that are only there to preserve a body that she isn't a part of anymore. She’d hate it, seeing herself so still and quiet. So empty. She wouldn't want to stay like this, wouldn't want him and the girls to sit there and watch it either, not when it could all just be over. A clean exit wound, an easy fix, rather than a neglected one that festers and doesn't get a chance to heal as quickly.

He knows he’s not going to heal from this, though. Survive it, yes, because he has his daughters to think about, but heal? No. This… this isn't something he’s going to get used to, he knows. He’s never going to be used to her not being with him. He doesn't know if he can do this without her.

How is he supposed to do anything without her?

 

_You can’t stop fiddling with your tie and your palms are sweating, so when you do fiddle with it, it gets slightly damp and wrinkles, which makes you even more agitated than you already are. It’s getting more and more wrinkled by the minute the longer you have to stand here in the church’s entryway. Apparently, there’s a certain timing to these things and just because you’re anxious to get it over with, doesn't mean anyone else is. She’s taking forever._

_“Stop it,” Clarke says, coming up to you and swatting your hands away from your tie. Her hands replace yours and somehow manage to fix the mangled thing back into some semblance of how it was the first time she tied it an hour ago. You’ll never understand how she’s so good at that. At you._

_“Is she ready yet?” you ask, looking over Clarke’s head and back toward where you know your baby sister is. Of any of the women in your life, you never thought Octavia would be the one that would be the pickiest and most high maintenance one on her wedding day, but it’s obvious now to you how wrong you were. To be honest, you never actually thought Octavia would get married._

_It’s become apparent to you that you really should stop trying to understand your sister, because you always get it wrong._

_“Just about. She’s stunning, Bellamy. Wait till you see her,” she says with a grin._

_You’re still staring back where you know Octavia is, nerves creeping back in. You don’t know why you’re nervous. Octavia’s happy. You want her to be happy and Lincoln is a good guy, so why do you feel like someone sucked all the air out of the room?_

_“Hey. Look at me.” Clarke is gently tugging your chin away from where you’re staring and toward her, her face filling your field of vision. She’s cupping your jaw and you can feel her fingers brushing against your cheek._

_“It’s all going to be fine. I promise.” You nod and lean into her touch._

_“I know.” She cocks her head to the side, a wry expression coming over her face._

_“You weren't nearly this nervous on our wedding day. I’m almost insulted.” You huff a laugh, ducking your head before looking back up at her._

_“Oh, yes, I was,” you say, your hand reaching up to grab her’s and then holding it to your chest, thumb rubbing over the smooth skin of her hand and the sliver bands situated on her left ring finger. “You just didn't see me. Abby actually threatened to tranq me if I didn't stop hyperventilating.”_

_“You’re kidding. But you looked so calm when I saw you!”_

_“Only because I saw you first.”_

_“You did? When?”_

_“Before the ceremony. I went to get some air, thinking it would help calm me down, and I was outside, panicking and thinking about all the different things that could go wrong in that room with all those people staring at me and I just looked up…” you pause for a moment, using your other hand to brush back the hair on her face and stroke her cheek. “And there you were.”_

_“The window…”she says, her forehead wrinkling that way it does when she concentrates. “That vineyard was like an oven, so we opened all the windows to try to keep everyone from roasting.”_

_You nod, smiling. You remember that place, over one hundred years old and one of the most beautiful places you've ever set foot that didn't have the words “nature preserve” somewhere in its name. Octavia had suggested it, but no one had realized the building hadn't been fitted with a central cooling system before you’d put down the deposit. Monty, Miller, and Jasper had stayed up half the night before the wedding putting together fans to give out to your guests so they didn't die of heat stroke._

_“You looked so_ focused _, I think you were talking to Raven and Wells about something, I couldn't hear you, but… that’s all it took. I saw you and everything just... stopped. I realized that I was worried over nothing, because I had you by my side and… wedding or no wedding, nothing would ever change that.”_

_She’s starting to tear up as she looks at you, with all the love and adoration you never thought you’d deserve let alone receive, and you know she’s going to be pissed if she messes up her make-up or if anyone else sees her crying, so you let your face split into a shit eating grin._

_“That and I remembered that I was about to marry the hottest woman on earth.”_

_It works and she laughs, head thrown back and blond curls swishing. Then she looks at you again. She’s got that look on her face, the one you love because you only see it directed at you and it never fails to make this warmth spread through your chest. It makes you feel like you’re home._

_“Bellamy Blake… you always know what to say to a girl.”_

_“Well, it was true then and it’s true now. I am a very lucky man. I married up.”_

_Rolling her eyes, she shakes her head at you, her hands pulling from yours and coming to rest on her very pregnant belly._

_“Please. I’m a beached whale wrapped in satin.” You frown and rest your hands where her’s lay on her stomach. Your little girl is kicking. She’s been doing that a lot lately. It never ceases to amaze you. You’re going to be a dad again soon, to another tiny person. You can’t wait._

_“You are incredible and by far the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” you affirm, bending down to kiss her forehead as you do so. When you lean back, she’s smiling. “Just don’t tell O. She’ll think something is wrong with her make-up again and this thing will take even longer than it already has.”_

_“I heard that,” Octavia says. She’s a vision in white silk, lace, and pearls walking toward you as you look up. Harper, her maid of honor, is in tow and gives the signal to the priest that they’re ready to start. Clarke was right. She is stunning, and really who’s going to blame you if you tear up a little bit at the sight. You’re giving your baby sister away. This is an emotional moment._

_“O…”_

_She waves you off, smiling._

_“Stop. If you start, I’m going to start, and then we really will need to redo my make-up. Again. So suck it up and wait until you get me down the aisle, alright Bell?”_

_You sigh and shake your head. How you managed to surround yourself with such bossy women, you will never know._

_“Fine.”_

_“Promise?”_

_“Promise.” Your forehead wrinkles in confusion as you look at her. “I thought you were going to wear Mom’s pearl earrings?”_

_Her eyes go wide as he hands fly up to grab at the lobes of her ears._

_“Shit. I knew I forgot something. Be right back.” She’s off, flying much faster than anyone should be able to in that much taffeta. Harper’s running after her and making sure her veil doesn't get trampled in the process. Or any other poor unfortunate soul that manages to wander into Octavia’s stampeding path._

_Clarke moves away from your side at that moment, pressing a kiss to your cheek as she does._

_“I’m gonna go stall the priest, okay? And Lincoln. Make sure no one else in the bridal party runs off.”_

_“I’ve got it. Go.”_

 

He’s back in the room with the machines, only this time he’s not alone with her. There’s a nurse with him. She’s the one that’s going to… she’s going to turn off the machines.

Three hours of working up the nerve and few signed sheets of paper later and he’s here. God, he wants to be anywhere else but here, wants to be back at home, in bed holding his wife in his arms with his daughters down the hall, perfectly happy and with both of their parents. He wants to be back to this morning when he didn’t drag her back to him and make her late for work, or even let her get to work at all, so they could spend a day in bed being lazy together. He doesn’t want to be here.

“Mr. Blake? I’m going to begin now. You… you might want to sit down.”

He nods and does as she suggests. She can probably tell that his knees are going to give out on him. He grabs Clarke's hand, bruised and a little bloody, but still warm. The girls are with the social worker in another part of the hospital, fast asleep and being looked after. When they wake up, their mother won’t be there anymore. His wife won’t be here anymore.

She’s really going to be gone.

The nurse starts shutting machines off and the room is slowly starting to get quieter and quieter as all the beeping and whirring slowly stop. It’s _awful._

He feels like he can’t breathe, the world is closing in on him. This is all moving way too fast and _he’s killing his wife._

“Wait!” he says as the nurse begins to take the tube that’s keeping Clarke alive out of her mouth.

“Mr. Blake…”

“Just… just wait a second, okay?” She sees something then, probably a desperate man, one of many she’s probably seen, and takes pity on him. She nods and backs away.

Clarke Griffin has never, in her life, been small or weak or anything other than brilliant. It’s just a fact of her existence that she was built to stay, to take on the world if she needed to. It’s something he’d always been in awe of, even back before they even actually liked each other. But right now, she’s lying in a hospital bed after being hit by a _truck_ and she’s… she can’t do it on her own. Not this. She needs a miracle.

Those happen, right? Patients suddenly wake up and live and get to go back to their lives after things like this. That _happens_. So why not them? Why can’t it be them? Please, dear god, let it be them.

He stands up and looks down at her, willing her to wake up. God, even just for a few seconds if that’s all he gets. He wants to see her look at him one more time. He wants to see his wife one more time.

“Clarke?” Nothing. He moves so that he can gently stroke her cheek, searching her closed eyes for any trace of movement. Then he leans down and kisses her forehead, before pressing his forehead against her’s. Her name comes out like a prayer. “Clarke… Clarke…?”

 

_“Clarke?” The most beautiful girl you have ever seen in real life turns around at your call, all blonde curls, big blue eyes, and perfect skin. A princess if you’d ever seen one._

_“Yeah?”_

_“I’m Bellamy. A friend of Finn’s.”_

_Her face mars itself with a frown at your words._

_“You mean my date who just left me stranded here at a party where I know exactly two other people because he needed to work things out with his girlfriend?”_

_“That’d be him.”_

_“You should really look into better friends.” She’s got some fire, this girl._

_“You’re the one who went on a date with him.”_

_She closes her eyes and ducks her head before sighing._

_“You’ve got me there.”_

_There’s a massive party raging on behind the two of you as you stand in the driveway of someone you don’t know. The girl, Clarke, has her arms wrapped around her, looking at the party with something akin to dread._

_You only came because Raven and Octavia dragged you here, citing that they thought Finn had been cheating on Raven and they want to catch him in the act. And that they might need back up if things got ugly. You don't even like Finn._

_You came for Raven and Octavia. You did not come to play white knight to Raven’s douchebag boyfriend’s date after he ditched her._

_You look at her again. She looks like she’s facing the firing squad every time she glances back at the party._

_Dammit._

_“You want a ride home, Clarke?”_

 

“....Clarke?”

It isn’t working and it won’t work. He knows it won’t. She isn’t going to wake up. He knew that, but he wanted to try. He moves back, taking one last look at her face and knowing, without a doubt, that there are no miracles here.

It’s time. It’s time to let go and feel all of that _pain_ and anguish that will make him feel like he’s dying because he’s still existing in a world that no longer has her in it, but not quite yet. He has to go a little bit further before the dam breaks.

He’s pressing his lips together to keep from screaming, his breaths coming in short bursts, and his hands are shaking as he stops stroking her face. He almost collapses back into the chair and scoots it as close as he can to her bed, grabbing her hand and lifting it to his mouth as he sits.

“Okay…” He presses a kiss there, to her hand that doesn’t respond. He keeps it there, pressed against his cheek, stroking his thumb across her soft skin. “Okay. It’s okay. I know… I know you’d have stayed if you could. I know. And I love you for it. We’ll… the girls and I, we’ll be okay… I’ll make sure-”

His words get caught in his throat and it takes him a minute to catch his breath so he can keep going. He needs to get this out. Just a little bit longer.

“I’ll make sure we get to being okay without you. They’re gonna know you, alright? Both of them are going to know how much th-their mom loved them. There won’t be a moment where they aren’t sure of that. And I’ll… I’ll figure it out. It’s gonna hurt like hell to do this without you, to… to do any of this without you… God, I love you so much and I _need_ you… but… I won’t leave them alone. I can do it. I promise, I can do it.”

He’s crying, the tears flowing steadily down his cheeks, onto his hands gripping hers, and even on to the crisp white hospital sheets underneath.

“You… you go. And I’ll stay here. It’s okay.”

This is hell. This has to be hell, right?

“…Mr. Blake?” The nurse. Right. He forgot she was there. “Mr. Blake, are you ready?”

He’s staring at his beautiful, broken wife, holding her hand in his. It’s time.

“No… I’m not.” He would never be ready for this, not if he lived a thousand years. “But do it anyway.”

And she does. She gently takes the tube out, and Clarke exhales, the air in her lungs leaving her body. It only takes a few seconds for the monitors to start making that god awful sound that tells the world that his wife’s heart is no longer being forced to keep beating. The nurse is nice enough to turn it off so he doesn’t have to keep hearing it before she leaves him alone. Just a little bit longer now. Her hand is still warm.

Then it’s over, she’s gone, and the dam finally, completely breaks.

 

_“I’m going to spend the rest of my life loving you, Bellamy Blake.”_

_“Is that so?”_

_“It is.”_

_“Good. Because that’s my plan too.”_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Largely inspired by the latest Grey's Anatomy ep. Some snipits of dialogue and the general plot was taken from that, with my own tweaks and twists here and here. Title comes from Lord of the Rings, in a sense.


End file.
